


Stand

by ammiehawk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammiehawk/pseuds/ammiehawk
Summary: When Ed and Al went back through the Gate, they didn't quite end up where they expected to be. What will they make of a school, nay an entire world, full of magic? How will they make it back to their own time and place with crazed Dark Lords lurking in the background and a community that doesn't believe it is possible?





	1. Prologue: One Door Closes

Prologue: One Door Closes

 

“So what now?” a dark haired man surveyed the vehicle and the blond boy, no man, in front of him through his uncovered eye.

“I need to go back,” the blond looked over his shoulder into the plane behind him.

“Wait!” another blond, behind the one eyed man's back, lurched forward. “Brother no! I just got you back, you can't go again!”

“I have to break the Gate on their side,” gold eyes surveyed his younger brother fondly. “I need you to stay here, Al, and destroy it on this side too, so the portal can never be opened again.”

“Fullmetal... Ed,” the dark haired man shook his head, “you don't have to rush off right away. You could at least say good bye this time.”

“I guess a few minutes wouldn't hurt, Colonel,” Ed sighed, looking back at the airship. “I'll have to send the ship ahead, though, the fuel won't last long, and I'm not sure about the landing.”

“Show me what to do,” Al ran over to his older brother. “I'll have a suit pilot it back.”

Colonel Roy Mustang watched the two brothers with a ringing sense of nostalgia. If there way any way humanly possible, he would not let those two separate again. With that thought firmly rooted in his mind, he followed the pair, a faint smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth.

8888888

Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.

“Hey, Big D!”

Dudley turned.

“Oh,” he grunted. “It's you.”

“How long have you been 'Big D' then?” said Harry.

“Shut it,” snarled Dudley, turning away again.

“Cool name,” said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin. “But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me.”

“I said, SHUT IT!” said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

“Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?”

“Shut your face.”

“You don't tell _her_ to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?”

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.

“So who've you been beating up tonight?” Harry asked, his grin fading. “Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago—”

“He was asking for it,” snarled Dudley.

“Oh yeah?”

“He cheeked me.”

“Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true...”

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

“Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?” Dudley said after a few seconds.

“What thing?”

“That—that thing you're hiding.”

Harry grinned again.

“Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time....”

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

“You're not allowed,” Dudley said at once. “I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to.”

“How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?”

“They haven't,” said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Harry laughed softly.

“You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?” Dudley snarled.

“Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?”

“He was sixteen for your information,” snarled Dudley, “and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out—”

“Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?”

“Not this brave at night, are you?” sneered Dudley.

“This _is_ night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this.”

“I mean when you're in bed!” Dudley snarled.

He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin. From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphantly look.

“What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?” said Harry, completely nonplussed. “What—am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?”

“I heard you last night,” said Dudley breathlessly. “Talking in your sleep. _Moaning_.”

“What d'you mean?” Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice. “'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric—your boyfriend?”

“I—you're lying—” said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying—how else would he know about Cedric?

“'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!'”

“Shut up,” said Harry quietly. “Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!”

“'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to—' _Don't you point that thing at me!_ ”

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years' hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins—what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers—

“Don't ever talk about that again,” Harry snarled. “D'you understand me?”

“Point that thing somewhere else!”

“I said, _do you understand me?_ ”

_“Point it somewhere else!”_

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“GET THAT THING AWAY FROM—”

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless—the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could—then his reason caught up with his senses—he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.

“W-hat are you d-doing? St-stop it!”

“I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!”

“I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—”

“I said shut up!”

Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up—he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing...

It was impossible.... They couldn't be here.... Not in Little Whinging... He strained his ears.... He would hear them before he saw them....

“I'll t-tell Dad!” Dudley whimpered. “W-where are you? What are you d-do—?”

“Will you shut up?” Harry hissed, “I'm trying to lis—”

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

“C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!”

“Dudley, shut—”

_WHAM!_

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting Harry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of Harry's eyes; for the second time in an hour he felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand.

“You moron, Dudley!” Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

“DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!”

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could only mean one thing. There was more than one.

“DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!” Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. “Where's—wand—come on— _Lumos_!”

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search—and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand—the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain— _concentrate—_ ”

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

His voice sounded dim and distant.... Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand—he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell—

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter.... He could smell the dementor's putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him— _Think_... _something happy_....

But there was no happiness in him.... The dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat—the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head—“ _Bow to death, Harry.... It might even be painless.... I would not know.... I have never died....”_

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again—

And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath—

_“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand, but it wasn't needed. Just as it was about to charge, something very solid landed right on top of the dementor leaning over Harry. Emerald eyes widened as the figure shifted off the dementor. The dark creature slowly began rising into the air, as if pulled upwards into a giant vacuum.

“THIS WAY!” Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft, completely ignoring the fallen figure for now, there were more important matters to deal with at the moment. “DUDLEY? DUDLEY!”

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; a second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as thought about to kiss him....

“GET IT!” Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping back past him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when another figure fell on it and, like its fellow, it was sucked into a dark swirling vortex in the sky before it suddenly disappeared. The stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into a silver mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, talking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors _here_ , in Little Whinging...

A low groan sounded from the second figure that had fallen beside Dudley. In one swift movement it was on it's feet, looking wildly around.

“Brother!”

It was a boy, around the same age as Harry himself was, possibly a year or two older, with dark blond hair pulled back into a long tail. His brown eyes were scanning the alleyway almost frantically. They bypassed Harry after a cursory glance before landing on the other figure that had fallen on Harry's dementor.

“Brother!” he rushed over and rolled the other over, so he was face up. “Wake up, brother!”

“Al,” the other groaned quietly, “you're sitting on my arm.”

“I'm sorry!” the first, now identified as Al, shifted slightly. “Brother, where are we?”

“The other side of the Gate, Al,” the other slowly pushed to his feet and began dusting himself off. “But I don't think we're in Germany.”

Harry shook his head and turned his attention away from the pair, at the moment they weren't a threat. Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then heard loud, running footsteps behind him; instinctively raising his wand again, he spun on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor, came panting into sight. Her grizzled gray hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist, and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but—

“Don't put it away, idiot boy!” she shrieked. “What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!”


	2. Chapter 1: Through the Fire

Chapter 1: Through the Fire

"What?" said Harry blankly.

"He left!" said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will _kill_ him!"

"But—"

The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbor knew what dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them down the alleyway. "You're—you're a _witch_?"

A soft snort emanated from behind them, where the two blonds were standing, currently looking around and taking in their surroundings.

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover when I _warned_ him—"

"This bloke Mundungus has been following me? Hang on—it was _him_! He Disapparated from the front of my house!"

"Yes, yes, _yes_ , but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr. Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone—and now—oh, _what's_ Dumbledore going to say? You!" she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

"You know Dumbledore?" said Harry, staring at her.

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come _on_ —I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag—"

"They won't be coming back," the raven haired wizard frowned. "Those two got sucked into the sky, when these two," he pointed over his shoulder at the brothers, "fell from it."

"Not that I actually know what's going on," the slightly taller of the two said in accented English, "but would you mind telling us where we are?"

"Uh, Little Whinging," Harry offered incredulously. When comprehension didn't seem to dawn on the pair, he tried again, "Surrey… England…."

"Oh, England, of course," the same one nodded, before he turned to his brother and hissed quietly, "Al, we were supposed to come out in Munich! How the hell did we end up here? What'd you do?!"

"Me!" Al whispered incredulously. "How is this my fault? This was your idea, brother!"

"Get _up_ you useless lump, get _up_!" Mrs. Figg seemed to be ignoring the two strangers in favor of getting off the street.

But Dudley either could not or would not move. He was still on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

"I'll do it," Harry turned from the squabbling brothers, he took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved: With an enormous effort he managed to hoist Dudley to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting: His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.

"Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically.

Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him toward the road, sagging slightly under his weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

"Here," the taller brother went over and slipped his arm around Dudley as well, sharing the weight, though his arm seemed a bit stiff and awkward, "let me help. Least I can do. I'm Ed, by the way, Edward Elric. And that's my kid brother, Alphonse. Hey, Al, you don't happen to have any oil with you, do you?"

"Winry gave me some before we left," the younger brother shook his head. "She said you'd probably need it."

"Thanks," Ed chuckled nervously.

"Harry," the wizard introduced.

"Keep your wand out," Mrs. Figg told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery… This was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of—what's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr. Prentice…. Don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

It was not easy to hold a wand steady and carry Dudley along at the same time, though Ed's support was a big help. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's and Ed's shoulders, his large feet dragging along the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib?" Harry asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. "All those times I came round your house—why didn't you say anything?"

"Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know…. But oh my word," she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, "when Dumbledore hears about this—how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight— _where is he_? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened, I can't Apparate—"

"I've got an owl, you can borrow her," Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.

"Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words—"

"But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic—they're going to be more worried what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"

"Oh my dear, I wish it were so but I'm afraid—MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

There was a loud crack, which caused both Elrics to start violently, and a strong smell of mingled drink and stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialized right in front of them. He had short bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair, and bloodshot baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound; he was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognized at once as an Invisibility Cloak.

"'S'up, Figgy?" he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley to the brothers. "What 'appened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" cried Mrs. Figg. " _Dementors_ , you useless skiving sneak thief!"

"Dementors?" repeated Mundungus, aghast. "Dementors here?"

"Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!" shrieked Mrs. Figg. "Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!"

"Blimey," said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry and back again. "Blimey, I…"

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? _Didn't_ I?"

"I—well, I—" Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. "It… it was a very good business opportunity, see…."

Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.

"Ed," his brother leaned into his personal space, "doesn't she remind you of Granny Pinako?"

"Yeah," Ed nodded. "It's kind of a thing. I'll explain more later."

"Ouch—gerroff—gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!"

"Yes—they—have!" yelled Mrs. Figg, still swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. "And—it—had—better—be—you—and—you—can—tel—him—why—you—weren't—there—to—help!"

"Keep your 'airnet on!" said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. "I'm going, I'm going!"

And with another loud _crack_ , he vanished.

"I hope, Dumbledore _murders_ him!" said Mrs. Figg furiously. "Now come _on_ , Harry, what are you waiting for?"

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semiconscious Dudley a heave and staggered onward.

"I'll take you to the door," said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. "Just in case there are more of them around…. Oh my word, what a catastrophe… and you had to fight them off yourself… and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs…. Well, it's no good crying over spilled potion, I suppose… but the cat's among the pixies now…"

"So," Harry panted, "Dumbledore's… been having… me followed?"

"Of course he has," said Mrs. Figg impatiently. "Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent… Right… get inside and stay there," she said as they reached number four. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" asked Harry quickly.

"I'm going straight home," said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. "I'll take these two with me," she indicated the brothers. "I'll need to send them to Dumbledore and wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Good night."

"Well," Ed shrugged, finally releasing his hold on Dudley, causing Harry to stagger slightly, "I guess this is where we say good bye. It was nice to meet you, Harry. Come on, Al."

"Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know—"

But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking. The brothers were following closely in her wake.

"Brother," Al whispered uncertainly, "why did you agree to go with her? Why didn't we stay with Harry? He seemed nice."

"I'm sure he's a great kid," Ed shook his head. "But he's still just a kid. There's not much he can do to help us. Besides, you said it yourself, she's a lot like old lady Pinako. In my experience, that means something. On top of that, she's planning to send us to whoever's in charge. From there, we can get some answers, or, who knows, maybe we can even go home."

"If you say so," the younger brother shrugged. He'd just have to trust the other on this one.

It didn't take them long to reach Mrs. Figg's house and she ushered them inside. She dropped her bag of cat food on the table and puttered over to the kitchen fireplace. She grabbed a small tin off the mantle and turned to the brothers.

"You two have a seat," she waved vaguely at the table. "I have to make a call and see what's to be done with you."

The brothers nodded and did as they were told. She then proceeded to light a fire in the grate and opened the tin. She sprinkled a small pinch of whatever was inside over the flames, turning them a brilliant emerald greed, and before either of them could stop her, she stuck her head into the fire. The pair immediately began to panic.

"Ed!" Alphonse began hyperventilating. "She just stuck her head into the fire!"

"I can see that, Al!"

"What should we do?!"

"I don't know!" Ed threw up his hands. "We'll just have to wait! Things are different here." He took a calming breath, "We just have to trust that this Granny Pinako look alike knows what she's doing, just like ours does. But… if she doesn't get out in five minutes, we're leaving."

"O-Okay," Al sniffed.

The five minute mark was almost upon them when Mrs. Figg pulled her head out of the fireplace. She straightened up and patter her hair, knocking the majority of the soot out of it.

"Alright," she turned to the boys once more, "they are expecting you. Take this," she held out a piece of paper neither of them had noticed before, "memorize it, and we will burn it before you go. Once you step into the fire, say the address clearly and you will be taken right there. Dumbledore will be waiting for you. Now go, quickly."

Ed and Al took the paper and memorized it. Mrs. Figg nodded when they handed it back and tossed it into the flames before opening the tin again and putting more of the powder in. Once the fire turned green, she motioned them forward. Ed decided to go first, just in case, and stepped into the surprisingly cool flames.

"12 Grimmauld Place," he called clearly, and disappeared with a faint whoosh.

It felt like he was going through the Gate again, as he spun around and around and lights flickered passed. He closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. A moment later, he pitched forward and landed hard on, what felt like, stone. He groaned quietly as he lay there, trying to calm his stomach. A moment later, he groaned again, as all the air was knocked out of him by something, or someone, landing heavily on his back.

"Al, get off me," he croaked after a moment, realizing the weight on his back was actually his brother.

"So," a voice above them said quietly, causing them both to look up at the speaker, "you are the two unexpected visitors. I am Albus Dumbledore."


End file.
